Clarice What the Actual Fuck Girl: A Reflection on Lispector's "The Hour of the Star"

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“I ask: was every story ever written in the world a story of affliction?”

Hello! Welcome back to my blog. I hope you have had a smooth return to the flow of school. Today I’ll be reflecting on Lispector’s “The Hour of the Star”, so let us jump right in.

Y’all, pardon my French, but what the fuck was this book. I think we have a strong contender for my least favourite book of this term, and I doubt any other book is going to come close. It is difficult for me to even begin describing what it is I did not like about this book because the answer is almost all of it. Let me try my best to be positive for a second. What I will give this book is its unconventional nature. I found it to be creative and intriguing. This is where my compliments run out, so let the negativity begin!

Let us start with our narrator. If awards were given out for the most obnoxious, self-righteous asshole I believe he’d win every time by a landslide. I just did not like him at all. To spend the first third of this book describing this story you had to get out but not actually starting the damn story was my first qualm. Not to mention, his tone throughout the book felt annoying and my only motivation to finish the book was to find out what would become of Macabéa.

Speaking of Macabéa, I think she deserves some time in the limelight. As a character, I was perplexed by her. I wanted to feel bad for Macabéa, but the narrator was almost insistent that I shouldn't (another reason why he got on my nerves). I also wanted to root for Macabéa. I wanted so badly for her to break free from this shell of an existence and live a worthwhile life, but I had a feeling that she was doomed from the start. It nearly drove me mad when the narrator made this bold claim that he would not kill her off right as her life was turning around, only to do. just. that. Again this narrator can choke for all I care.

The last point I would like to touch on is how meta this novel is. I think Lispector made it clear that the narrator is not really her, and so this book becomes a story within a story. My issue with this book is I didn’t walk away with anything after finishing it, which begs the question of why it was made in the first place. Perhaps there was some grand meaning between these pages that I was not able to pick up on. Either way, I am glad it is over.

We are at the end of another blog post! You may notice I wrote this weeks in advance, so I hope my ideas and feelings about this book are still fresh when it comes time to discuss it in class. My question for you this week is a broad one: why do you feel Lispector wrote this book? What was she trying to convey? In the meantime, let me know your thoughts in the comments. Bye for now.

B.B.